His Vienna Christmas Bride

by Jan Colley

  She sucked in a breath obediently and her head cleared a little.

  Adam straightened, his hands on his shoulders. “I can honestly say,” he murmured, sliding his hands around to her back, “I have never wanted anything as much as I want to see you out of this dress.” He found the fastening on the zipper that ran the length of her back. Slowly, slowly, he pulled the fastener down, his knuckles grazing her back, his body sizzling her front. She had time again to think about touching him, in between congratulating herself for the new lingerie. Good move, she thought, her hands slipping inside his open shirt to skim across the smooth, warm skin of his chest and abdomen. She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his sternum, running her hands over long, curved pectoral muscle, using the edges of her teeth on his nipple.

  The gown swished down to her feet with a pretty rustle. Jasmine stepped daintily out of it, still in her heels, and it occurred to her she should never have walked across the parquet floor in heels. She eased them off now and started to bend to pick up the dress but Adam had hold of both her hands and kept her upright. She stilled as he stepped back, his eyes sweeping her body, ablaze with stark hunger. Down over the ivory front-clasp bra, to the matching panties and the thigh-high shimmering stockings that had—as the saleslady promised—actually stayed up with their silicone grippers, even after dancing the night away.

  His head moved in a half shake, his tongue swept his bottom lip and there was a crease between his eyes that looked like a frown of concentration rather than displeasure. Jasmine raised her head, about to ask what was wrong. But when he lifted his eyes to hers, she felt again as she had at the Palace. Beautiful. Desirable. His.

  He shucked off his shirt and undid the fastening of his dress trousers. Without the braces to hold them up, they fell to the floor in a pile and he added to the mess by kicking off his footwear. Jasmine bit back a smile at the snug-fitting gray hipsters, all out of shape and probably stretched way past the manufacturer’s most stringent seam tests. The sight distracted her so that she didn’t even worry about the expensive clothing scattered drunkenly around the antique carpet. When Adam crushed her to him, his hands molding her body against him, she forgot everything except the burn of his skin, his hard planes against her soft curves and the texture of his tongue as she eagerly drew it deep into her mouth.

  His hands stroked over her, cupping the back of her neck, spreading the pleasure down the middle of her back, over the curve of her behind and down the back of her thigh. She shifted restlessly, needing more, needing everything. He raised his head, his eyes hooded and dark, leaving her mouth wet and feeling puffy. He cupped her breasts, weighing and squeezing until her world shrank to focus solely on the soft slope of her breast, the way each tiny bump around her nipple seemed to raise and pulse, begging for touch. Oh, sweet heaven, when his mouth finally closed over one taut bud, when he drew her into his mouth and sucked. The sensation was so primal, so deeply wrenching inside, her mind screamed “more!” It wasn’t possible to be this close to release when he hadn’t touched her intimately, when he hadn’t even touched her breasts except through the silky bra she wore.

  Suddenly, he bent her over the crook of his arm so she lay back against him, her legs stretched out, the backs of her heels on the floor. One arm was trapped by his side, the other clutched ineffectually at the muscles of his upper arm. But he held her so easily and his dark smile was all reassurance. “Relax,” he ordered in response to her sharp intake of breath.

  He pinged the front-clasp bra with one touch and it slid apart. Now, she thought, please now, touch me…His hand swept down her body in one stroke, taking her panties on the downward sweep, leaving her naked except for the stockings. Stroking unhurriedly, he kissed her mouth and throat, turning his head often to look down her body, laid out before him, trembling for him. Her breathing came in gasps. He held her helpless in one arm like the dip of a tango. She ordered her limbs to relax but her whole insides clenched like a vise, even more so when he began to lavish his mouth on her breasts. And all the while, his hands worked magic from her knees up to her inside upper thighs, firm, sweat-inducing strokes that reminded her he knew exactly how to play a woman.

  Her eyes were open, staring at the impressive arched ceiling, wondering if this was the famous former chapel. A smile surprised her; the imperial family that may have worshipped here would not be amused at the way Adam was worshipping her. Perhaps they’d answer her prayer for release, for his touch there where she needed it as he circled and stroked and drove her mad. Helpless to touch him back, her head lolled over his arm, his bunched muscles her pillow. Helpless to do anything but try to absorb the millions of sensations he evoked.

  A strangled pant erupted from her throat when finally he cupped her, his palm pressing firmly on her pubic bone, his fingertips teasing. The more he pressed down, the more tension built inside. She squirmed uneasily, almost afraid of the storm of sensation, the lurking torment that awaited her. Scrabbling back the fragments of her mind, she remembered her precarious position, her heels having little purchase on the floor and her mind in splinters on the ceiling. His fingers glided over her most intimate flesh, unerring, unhurried, firm yet tender, expertly applying pressure where she needed it most. And someone heard her prayer.

  Her legs clenched, her throat constricted. Her breath stopped altogether. As she hovered at the edge of release, his clever fingers and his clever mouth intensified and tipped her over. The climax crashed into her, squeezing her eyes shut, emblazoning every cell in her body with streaks of ecstasy, holding her taut and shaking for brilliant eternity.

  He continued to ply her with such exquisite touch until the blood cleared from her brain and she gradually became conscious of the coolness of her wet nipples, the aftershocks still rippling through her and her deadweight on his arm.

  She opened her eyes and Adam was watching her, his eyes filled with dark purpose. He lifted her, his arm tensing so that her grasping hand nearly slid off. He straightened, bringing her upright. Boneless, liquid, she could only hope her legs would hold her up.

  That her legs held her up surprised him. Then again, she had seriously beautiful legs, long, strongly muscled, smooth as satin. And those stockings were the sexiest thing he’d seen. Her sigh resonated with satisfaction and he couldn’t help but mentally beat his chest with pride. He’d done that, put that smile there, stolen her breath and her mind for moments that stretched into the stratosphere.

  He wanted more of her satisfaction, he wanted those legs around him. He needed to be inside her, all over her, to see and feel her response again and again. Her dancer stamina would be put to good use tonight.

  He hurriedly shucked off his underwear and reached down to grab a fistful of condoms where he’d stashed them earlier in the bedside table. Her eyes lit up when he tossed them on the bed. She reached up and looped her arms around his neck, pressing her body along the whole length of his. She smelled amazing, her elegant but subtle fragrance mingled with sex, the sharp drugging scent of her own climax on his fingers.

  Without preamble he tipped her onto the bed and rolled to his side next to her. He raised up on an elbow and fed his eyes, his senses with her. She was sensational, a vision of pale marbled skin, well-proportioned, glorious breasts, her tiny waist and flared hips giving her a feminine delicacy for all that strength. Her flawless skin glowed and was so smooth, he couldn’t keep his eyes, hands, lips off her. How his blockhead brother failed to properly appreciate the sexy beauty right outside his office for five years was beyond Adam. He’d known from the moment he saw her that under the crisp business suits and severely tied-back hair, there was great beauty, a lush-for-loving body, and a response to him that drove him wild.

  She smiled, a slow curve of her lips, her eyes bright with anticipation and a playfulness he hadn’t associated with her before. She’d told him he was only her third lover and he’d believed it because she’d been shy and unsure, unused to showing her body or touching a man.

  While he was
still thinking about that, he suddenly found himself flat on his back. She rose up, a sexy phoenix, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders, her perfect breasts jutting out above him, begging for his touch, and those damn naughty stockings with their thick band of lace at the top now straddling his waist.

  “You want to play, beautiful?” he murmured, sliding his hands up over her hips and settling on her waist.

  “A little.” She took his hands off her and arranged them by his sides.

  Whatever the lady wants, he thought, narrowing his eyes. She began to run her efficient, questing hands over him and within an embarrassingly short time, he was squirming impatiently, feeling his excitement build fast, too fast. He began to count as a distraction. One elegant fingertip circling his nipples, ten nails scraping over his stomach. One lush pair of lips sipping at his mouth, the tip of her tongue delving and teasing, while he shifted, bringing his straining erection into contact with her shapely backside. He put his hands on her hips, pressing her back.

  Her mouth moved all over his body, starting fires everywhere. He let his head loll back, not too far. He was enjoying the show too much not to watch, but the strain of holding back was immense. Her hair tickled his chest as she dragged her head down, bending from the waist, going lower while he went higher. His hand scrabbled around on the bed for a condom, finding one and tearing it open with his teeth.

  Jasmine raised her head, distracted by the noise.

  “Put it on,” he said hoarsely, holding it out to her. He couldn’t wait a moment more. They could take it slow next time….

  She straightened and took the pack from him, slowly extracted the contents and held it up daintily between index finger and thumb. Adam closed his eyes. She was killing him in tiny, torturous increments.

  She rose up on her knees and wriggled down a little so his jutting erection was between them, then tossing the condom onto his stomach, she began to fondle, light, teasing caresses interspersed with slow, firm, two-handed strokes. His mind blanked. The air punched out from his lungs and he began to sweat. Sweet torture, he couldn’t take much more, but on she went until he thought he’d explode in her hands.

  He grabbed the condom and held it up to her. “Put it on,” he growled. Then he grasped her thighs, prising them apart, and exacted his own punishment, dipping his fingers inside her heat, feeling her clench around him, her thigh muscles tight and hard. Good. That got her attention. Adam liked to play as much as anyone but he was wound too tight, had wanted her for so long. They had all night to indulge her playful side.

  He ground his teeth as she smoothed the condom over his flesh with such painstaking care. Finally she scooted forward and raised up over him. He thought he’d expire as she eased him into her hot body to the hilt. She stilled, settled, stretched while he filled his hands with her breasts. There was something just so damn right about this, the way she looked, felt, responded to him.

  She began to move her lower body in a torturously slow circular motion, her waist twisting, her breasts firm, her body gloving him tightly.

  It was bliss but the need to thrust, to take, to plunge overwhelmed him. He reared up and flipped her onto her back, swallowing her squeak of surprise with his lips. He thrust his tongue into her mouth at the same time he thrust into her body. She arched up as he filled her, panting his name, matching him stroke for stroke, lifting those lovely legs to wrap around his waist. All playfulness melted from her eyes and they filled with a steely resolve as intense as his. Release became the only goal for both of them. He tried to hold on for a few moments more, wasn’t confident as his own release clawed at him, gripped him hard.

  He grabbed a nearby pillow and pulled her up, shoving it under her hips. The different angle was electric, deep, amazing. Her eyes shot open; she gasped and tightened her legs around him. He thrust again, taking them to another level, higher and hotter and more consuming than anything he’d ever experienced. He felt her walls, gloving him so snugly, begin to ripple. He tore his mouth from hers and watched her shatter, sob her pleasure and relief, and followed her into endless pleasure.

  Eight

  A dam sat on a chair a few feet away from the bed, watching Jasmine sleep. It was after ten. He’d pulled the drapes to find the quiet streets looked clean with crusted snow at the edges, and sun shone down from a blue sky.

  He’d been woken by a text from John, his friend and business partner in London. There had been a phone call for Adam from a man claiming to be an advisor of Stewart Cooper’s. When told Adam was away for a couple of days, the man said he’d call back.

  Adam looked over at Jasmine’s sleeping face. Over the past couple of months, he’d left several messages and e-mails, but hadn’t been able to breach the eccentric recluse’s inner circle. He didn’t want to wake her; they hadn’t gotten to sleep until well after four. But it was driving him crazy, wondering if she had anything to do with the billionaire’s sudden change of heart.

  Not that he could tire of looking at that face. Adam doubted he’d ever forget the way she looked last night in the lovely gown, or out of it, for that matter. Now her warm, walnut-colored hair spilled over her face and the pillow, the ends twirling like gift-wrap ribbon.

  He tilted his head, listing the many faces of Jasmine Cooper. So far in their brief acquaintance, he’d seen her mussed from a motorcycle ride, all conservative glamour for the ballet, crisp and tailored at work, elegant and regal last night, and hot, naked and very discomposed a few hours ago.

  Jasmine Cooper with her different faces, her secrets and her very sexy body, was one interesting lady. Who would have thought that Nick’s bookish personal assistant would burrow her way under his skin so completely? Too completely, perhaps. Adam could not afford the distraction of secrets, different faces and sexy bodies right now, sexy bodies excepted. For the next few months, it was nose to the grindstone all the way.

  Thankfully she’d be returning to New Zealand soon. What with the fake engagement, her uncle and her working for Nick, it seemed he was becoming inextricably entwined in her life.

  Which should worry him more than it did….

  His cell phone beeped and he swore softly and flipped it open. It was John wanting an ETA tomorrow.

  “Business on New Year’s Day?” Jasmine asked sleepily.

  Adam’s head snapped up. She’d lifted her head up off the pillow and looked fresh and pink-cheeked. He finished his text and closed the phone. Picking up the cooling cup of coffee he’d poured from the breakfast tray the butler had delivered, he walked over to the bed and offered her the cup. “Did you contact your uncle about me?” He sat on the edge of the bed and restrained himself from brushing a wisp of hair from her face.

  Jasmine blinked rapidly. “Umm.” She slurped at the coffee, made a face and handed it back, then struggled into a sitting position, dragging the sheet up over her. “Why?”

  Adam watched her, amused at the secretive face she wore. “Apparently he phoned, wanting to talk to me.”

  She nodded, her eyes wary. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “That’s very good.” He caught her chin in his fingers. “You did that for me?”

  She nodded and looked away. “I owed you.”

  He stilled, hearing his words, his demand on her lips, devaluing the night they’d just shared. “And yet you still came.”

  The tip of her tongue appeared and she moistened her lips. “I—didn’t intend to. I didn’t bring anything except what I was wearing and a handbag.”

  Hence the shopping spree, the bags he’d noticed spread all over the suite.

  “You were going to stand me up?” His brows lifted. “Mind telling me why?”

  She raised her eyes to his for a long moment and then shook her head.

  Adam breathed out, strangely relieved. Something in her troubled eyes told him he didn’t want to know why. Not now, when he had to keep this casual. “What changed your mind?”

  She looked down at her hands, breathing out carefully. “I asked the
flight attendant where we were going.” The milk-and-roses complexion leaned heavily in favor of the roses. “It was New Year’s Eve…”

  Adam nearly smiled. “So you arrived at the airstrip—”

  “I expected you to be there,” she interjected.

  “—at the airstrip,” he continued, “intending to tell me where I could stick my weekend away because you’d done what I asked.”

  Her pink and guilty countenance confirmed it.

  “But when you discovered it was Vienna…”

  She gazed around at the opulent suite, chewing on her bottom lip. “I hoped…I remembered telling you in New Zealand that I’d always wanted to go to the Kaiserball.”

  “And you couldn’t resist?”

  She shook her head.

  Adam stared at her, unsmiling, for a few moments longer, enjoying her guilty discomfort. Then he began to chuckle. “And here was me thinking it was my irresistible sex appeal and scintillating charm.”

  Jasmine’s shoulders dropped, her eyes meeting his at last. Her lips twitched. “I’m not sure about the charm, but maybe the sex appeal….”

  They smiled at each other. Then he reached out and caught her chin again. “Thank you.” He knew how worried she was about her father’s declining health. Risking his displeasure wasn’t something someone like Jasmine would take lightly. “Going to see your uncle can’t have been easy.”

  Her smile faded a little. “It wasn’t so bad. I liked him.”

  “I appreciate it.” He brushed her mouth with his. “Get dressed. It’s your day for sightseeing. Anything you like.”

  Several hours later, they left the world-famous Kunsthistoriches Museum.

  “Another lifelong ambition achieved.” Jasmine sighed happily. “This is the best New Year ever!”

  She hadn’t stopped prattling for hours, showing off her knowledge of Austrian Baroque art and sculptures and the many other treasures in this massive museum. Poor Adam. She gave him a sidelong glance. He would probably much prefer a bar or the Lipizzaner horses. Or, her heart skipped a beat, being holed up at the hotel with her.