All I Want…

by Isabel Sharpe

  He hauled her closer, kissed her as if she belonged to him, wrapped his arms tightly around her so she couldn’t escape if she wanted to.

  She didn’t want to. Her eyes stayed closed, arousal burned, she moaned in her throat, rose on tiptoes to press against him.

  “I missed you, Krista.” He whispered into her temple, kissed a path back to her mouth. The sound of her real name on his lips was wonderful. The feel of his hands running over her hips under the thin rayon of her pants even more so.

  She kept her eyes screwed shut, slipped her hands under his shirt, explored the warm landscape of his back, so familiar here in the darkness. “I missed you, too, um…”

  Damn. She couldn’t even call him that other name.

  He pulled his hand out from under her waistband, moved back, staying silent until she opened her eyes and found him watching her, one eyebrow quirked up in an expression she should be familiar with.

  “It’s Seth, Krista.”

  “I know.” She found her shoes fascinating again. “I’m…sorry. I don’t know if this is going to work.”

  He was silent again. She abandoned her shoes and found him smiling. He had a wide, disarming smile. She tried to imagine it back into the darkness all the times she knew he’d been smiling.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “It’s going to work, Krista. We were just rushing things a little. I admit I find it pretty hard to stay away from you.” He held out his hand with another of those killer smiles that yes, okay, could make a girl a little crazy. “Come with me.”

  She snatched up the present from the coffee table, not even sure why—maybe it felt like some kind of symbolic defense held tightly to her chest—and followed him across the room, up a curving wooden staircase with a beautiful wrought-iron railing, up to the loft where his bedroom must be.

  At the closed doorway, she hesitated. “Is more sex going to cure what’s wrong between us?”

  He grinned. “I certainly hope so.”

  “I’m not sure that’s—”

  “Trust me.” He pushed her hair back on both sides of her face, rested his forearms on her shoulders. “I think you already do or you wouldn’t be here, am I right?”

  She nodded and gave him a wry smile. “I trust you. I’m not real happy about it, but yes, I do.”

  He chuckled, opened the door and pulled her through into his bedroom…and into darkness. Again.

  “Are we…what is this going to…if we keep—”

  “Shhhh.” He was there in front of her, a towering warmth, John Smith, leading her, unresisting, over to his bed, gently pulling her onto it, lying next to her, a solid familiar-again presence. She put a hand to his chest, feeling his heart beating through the soft material of his shirt, hating the weakness that made him so irresistible to her this way.

  But how would this solve anything? “So we’re going to be mole people from now on? That’s the solution?”

  He laughed and she couldn’t help joining him in a nervous giggle. “I have a plan and it’s not about mole people. Okay?”

  She swallowed. “Okay.”

  He got up from the bed and went over to the wall. Seconds later a soft jazzy tune started playing, “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas.”

  “Mmm, that’s nice.” She lay back, ready for whatever he had in mind.

  She didn’t have to wait long. His weight burdened the mattress next to her; her red sweater slowly lifted up and off. “About time I got to see what you were wearing before I took it off you.”

  Krista laughed and fumbled for his shirt buttons, feeling giddy until it hit her. Giddy to be in fantasyland again? What was she doing? This could make everything worse.

  And yet…right now it was making everything so much better.

  He kissed her exposed skin—nearly unerring in guessing where it was—then lowered her pants and took his time removing them from each leg. She returned the favor with his, admittedly enjoying the feel of the material all the more for being able to picture it on him earlier.

  Half-naked, her body heating, when she most expected the next step, he was gone, down at the foot of the bed doing…something.

  A scraping sound, the flare of a match dwindling to a soft, dim glow—a candle?

  He came back on the bed, a barely illuminated silhouette. She could see his hands now, dark shapes moving across her skin, slowly removing her bra and panties. In turn, she could just see to find his boxers, pull them down his long, shadowy legs, make sure they landed well away from the tiny light at the foot of the bed.

  Then he was gone again, another match, a slightly stronger glow. This time she could barely make out his features, the strong nose and jaw, the darker line of his brows.

  She closed her eyes as he kissed her but opened them again when he moved down to her breasts, straining to see the outline of his lips on her nipple. Her body immediately knew he was no stranger—arousal flooded her, warm and welcome as his touch on her skin.

  Another candle lit, his mouth moved between her legs. Again she closed her eyes; again she had to look, fascinated by his face slowly coming into sharper relief. His nose had a slight bump halfway down, his forehead was broad and smooth, his hair thick and with a slight wave.

  Then his tongue began to work and she felt herself moving up to the next level of desire. Her head fell back, she stared at the shadows flickering on the ceiling, let out a soft moan when the sensations became too much for feeling and had to be translated into sound.

  He moved away again. The room brightened. He returned to her, this time holding a condom. Not yet. She pushed him back on the bed and knelt, studying him. His feet were wide and callused, the hair on his legs curled and light, the muscles in his thighs tight and long. A dark freckle graced one pelvic bone; his erection stood tall from its nest of hair.

  She closed her mouth over that erection, watching him, unable to stop. He gave the sigh she’d heard so many times in the dark, eyes closed in bliss, mouth slightly open. She sucked and watched, learned from his expression how to please him best.

  Then he pulled her up next to him…and left to light one more candle, bringing the room to soft twilight—or maybe dawn. He put on the condom and lay next to her again, arms around her, stroking her, memorizing her body with his eyes.

  Seth Wellington IV. He had a tiny white scar marring the perfect shape of his lower lip. He’d missed a place shaving near the corner of his mouth; the bristles were slightly longer there. One sideburn had been cut slightly shorter than the other.

  He moved over her, and when their eyes met, his were lit warm and tender, and she welcomed him into her body, wondering how she could ever have made love to him before without being able to see the way he felt about her.

  Seth Wellington IV.

  He pushed inside, in and out, slowly, beautifully, reverently, gradually building faster until they both climaxed, Krista first, Seth soon after, looking into each other’s eyes in awe, finally able to see what they’d been experiencing all along.

  After, she touched his face, touched the smooth forehead, his fine cheekbones, narrow, fine lips. “Seth.”

  He smiled.

  She touched the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Thank you.”

  “For?”

  “What you did. With the candles. It was perfect. It helped me…merge you with…him.” She gestured helplessly, thinking how strange she’d ever resisted.

  “You have no idea how glad I am.” He rolled to his side pulling her onto hers so they were facing each other in the warm glow of the candles. “This last week without you has been hell.”

  She nodded, noticing for the first time his bangs curled over to conceal a widow’s peak. She touched it, too, greedy for every physical detail. “Hell for me also.”

  “Aimee told me my father intends to come out of retirement a year from now, January first. After that I will no longer be running Wellington Stores.”

  “Oh.” She felt her heart wanting to retreat to safety. Out of hi
s corporate job, he’d go wandering. Wouldn’t he? Tears threatened and she sat up quickly, unwilling to show him how much it hurt that he’d start this with her only to leave. “That reminds me.”

  She reached over the side of the bed for his package, handed it to him. “Open this now. It’s nothing. Just a fun thing.”

  He gave her a curious look, then pulled off the wrapping and opened the box, pulled out the small globe she’d bought him, hovering midair between two magnets repelling it with equal strength. “I bought this thinking I’d get you the world since I didn’t know you’d be able to go so soon.”

  He smiled at the globe, gave it a spin, then lifted his head to include her in the smile. “Thank you. It’s perfect, Krista.”

  One year. One year for her to fall even more deeply in love with him and then he’d be gone. “But I guess you’ll be able to go for real now.”

  “I’ll be taking an extended trip, yes.” He spun the globe again, still smiling. “Which I sincerely hope will be my honeymoon.”

  Krista’s mouth dropped. “Your honeymoon?”

  “Would you like to come?”

  “On your honey—” She stared at him, at his deep hazel eyes lit green in the candlelight. And instead of one year, she suddenly saw the rest of her life. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  “Not quite yet. But I will someday. Not too far off.” He put the globe down carefully, gathered her close and kissed her forehead and cheeks. “Since I found you in the dark, Krista, everything in my world has been brighter.”

  Tears. She didn’t try to hide them this time. Another perfect fantasy—would he ever stop making them come true? “When that someday comes, I’ll say yes. I love you, Seth.”

  “I love you, too.” He nudged her nose tenderly with his. “And thank God you’ll say yes. I was terrified you’d tell me to get real.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think it gets realer than you and me.”

  “I agree.” A soft chime came from downstairs and Seth grinned his sexy, already-familiar grin. “Midnight. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas to you, too.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t buy you a present. If you’d refused to come over, I couldn’t stand having to look at whatever it was, knowing I’d never be able to give it to you. I’ll make it up to you next year.”

  She waved him off. “Don’t even think about it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not much into the material side of life. Christmas is about love, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “And besides…” She kissed him, kissed him again and then was afraid she’d never be able to stop, eyes wide-open, looking into those of the man she loved. “All I want for Christmas is you.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-5756-0

  ALL I WANT…

  Copyright © 2005 by Muna Shehadi Sill.

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  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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