by Lauren Smith
The tiny pupils in her eyes grew as she blinked. “That’s really what you thought?” Kat’s lips twitched as though she was tempted to smile but was a little afraid of showing how much she wanted to.
“That was only the beginning. Everything now is so much more intense.”
Finally, she smiled. “It’s that way for me, too.”
For a moment neither of them said anything. They just held on to each other, foreheads pressed together, eyes closed, sharing breath and warmth.
Tristan broke the contact first because he wanted to show her more of the house. Fox Hill was full of memories for him, more often good than bad.
“Let me show you the rest.” He nodded at the hall.
Mr. Whitney emerged, in that uncanny way a good butler could, to take their coats and put them away in the closet.
“Whitney, we’ll be around the house a bit. Is there anything to eat in the kitchen for later?”
The butler nodded. “Mrs. March left out some cookies she was planning to frost, and there’s homemade cocoa in the tin by the teapot. If you don’t mind, I’ll pop down to town for a few hours to take care of a few things before this evening.” Then Mr. Whitney made himself scarce, which was good because Tristan wanted to take Kat straight to bed.
“Cookies? Oh, Tristan, I haven’t frosted cookies since I was a kid. Can we?” Kat’s bright smile banished away the lingering ghosts of his worries.
“We just arrived home and rather than”—he made a subtle hand gesture that earned him a sweet blush—“you want to frost cookies?” He didn’t know whether to be irritated or amused at her ability to string him out. He wanted to drag her to bed and fuck her bloody brains out.
“Yes. Cookies. Then…” She mimicked the gesture with her hands, a wicked smile that suited her too well hovering on her lips. “Wouldn’t you like to see what interesting things we can do with frosting?” She made a deliberate show of licking her lips.
And just like that, his cock was punching at the front of his jeans and his blood heated. He reached out to grip her waist with his hands and tug her close to whisper, “Fine. I’ll agree to the terms. Cookies, then you in my bed wearing nothing and on your hands and knees like a good little girl, because I have an entire Christmas list of bad, very bad things I want to do to you.”
This time her face turned beet-red and her lips parted.
“How bad?” she asked in a breathless whisper.
“So bad, I’ll get a stocking full of coal for the next century.” His fingers tightened on her hips and he kissed the shell of her ear while rubbing his erection against her stomach.
Another panting breath, and her body quivered in his hold.
Now he wanted to be the one who tortured her after all the times she’d nearly killed him with her sweet sensuality. He knew after years of seduction when a woman was heavily aroused. Kat’s eyes were slightly dilated and her breath came out in shallow pants. “How about those cookies?” He rotated her body so she was facing the direction that would take them to the kitchen, and he took her arm in his as they walked together. She was glaring at him, but there wasn’t any real anger there.
“You got me all revved up on purpose, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
“Tit for tat, darling. I never said I play fair.” Tristan gave her arse a rather rough little pat before he crossed the kitchen to fetch the teapot. When he turned back around, she was staring at him, more specifically staring at his lower body.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Hmm?” she replied as though still distracted. “Oh, sorry, I was just looking at your ass and picturing my hands digging into it while you’re on top of me…inside me.” She bit her bottom lip to hide a smile.
“Little minx. You realize, I’m this close…” He held up his hand and pinched his thumb and forefinger in the air, leaving only half an inch between them.
She was teasing him sexually, and it was driving him wild, not just physically. He’d never really had a woman be this playful about sex. Sure, there had been lots of woman who’d played the game with him, the coy smiles, the questing palms in dark corners of clubs, the hand jobs in the bathrooms of expensive restaurants…but this…with Kat? It was different. It was more exciting, more intense, more rewarding than anything else had been with those other women.
“Why don’t you make us the cocoa and I’ll find the frosting and the cookies.” Kat changed the subject just when he’d decided to hell with it. The look she sent him, eyes alight with mischief, as though she’d known how hard he was from her teasing, was too damned adorable.
Tristan stared at her as he held the teapot in one hand. Adorable? He’d never used the word before with a woman, but he kept using it with Kat. She located the cookies in a red and white Christmas tin and then dug around in the cupboards for plates. Tristan knew he wasn’t going to cut the cookies and cocoa out of their plans, so he filled the kettle and twisted the knobs on the stovetop to heat the water.
Kat had placed all the cookies on plates and was digging through the drawers until, with a little “aha!” she pulled out a pair of small butter knives.
“Where do you suppose she put the jar of frosting?” she asked, her eyes darting around the kitchen.
With a little chuckle, Tristan shook his head at her. “You think any cook who works for my mother would use premade frosting? Good Lord, Kat. We’re the aristocracy, not common folk.” He raised his chin in a mock-haughty manner, but at the look on her face, as though she half believed him, he burst out laughing.
“Well, seriously though, darling. Mrs. March would never use canned frosting. She’s an excellent cook and takes pride in her work.”
“Hmm.” Kat pursed her lips and pulled out her phone, typing on it.
“What on earth are you doing?” He walked over to her and peered down at her screen.
This time she laughed. “I’m Googling frosting.”
“Googling?” He almost choked on the word. “You’re trusting the fate of Mrs. March’s Christmas cookies to a search engine?” He looked up at the ceiling, sighing dramatically, but Kat nudged him hard in the ribs with her elbow.
“Google has never failed me before.” She snickered at some private joke and then held up her screen. “Homemade frosting recipe using powdered sugar. All we need is buttermilk, a block of cream cheese, and powdered sugar.”
Tristan squeezed Kat’s waist lightly before he let her go, and then they both dug through the fridge and cabinets until they found the ingredients. As it turned out, creating frosting from scratch was a sticky business. Once it was all done and the cookies were frosted, Kat’s russet-brown hair was lightly dusted with the sugary powder, and he had handprint-shaped stains on his jeans from where he’d patted his hands without thinking.
“God, we’ve made a mess!” Kat glanced at the smattering of bowls and the plates covered in bits of discarded frosting.
“Mrs. March will be furious,” he agreed.
With one arched brow, Kat stared at him. “Oh no, Mr. Future Earl, you’re doing the dishes with me. I’m not leaving poor Mrs. March to deal with all of this when she gets back.”
Doing his best, he followed Kat’s lead on the dishes, but he quickly discovered that he did not like to wash things in the sink. The entire time she was giggling and trying to hide it, as though his inability to use a scrub brush was hilarious.
“You know I’m going to make you pay for this. In bed. With lots of sex.” He winked at her. There were a hundred ways he wanted to punish his little Kitty-Kat, and he had a drawerful of toys in his bedroom to use on her.
“Everyone should know how to clean dishes. Even aristocrats.”
Her laughter, which followed, was musical, and the sweet sound of it punched him in the gut. His heart gave a strange rush of quick beats before it calmed again. Lord, she was beautiful, and it wasn’t just her killer curves, but the way a twinkle brightened her gray eyes and how her smile made her face light up.
As Kat set
the last dish into the dishwasher, Tristan tossed the brush into the sink and groaned. “Tell me we’re done with this.” He waved a hand at the counter.
She studied the kitchen; it looked almost as spotless as when they had entered. “I think so. What do you want to do next?” Kat wiped her hands dry on a towel and turned to face him.
Tristan cocked a brow. “I seem to remember someone promising to be in my bed, naked, on hands and knees…Ring any bells?” he teased.
“Right.” Kat flushed and glanced down, a tad bashful.
He curled his arms around her back, holding her close. “What’s this? Getting shy on me? I’m afraid we can’t have that.” He met her gaze. “Why don’t we play a game of billiards?” That sounded innocent enough. She wouldn’t know until it was too late that he intended to break down some of those modesty barriers in a creative way.
“Pool? I’d like that. I’m not very good, but I can play.” She grinned.
“Excellent.” He was damned good at pool and had a very good idea of how to strip his little American stepsister out of all those pesky clothes she didn’t need.
Merry Christmas to me…
Chapter 6
Tristan took Kat to the large entertainment room on the first floor. It had once been his grandfather’s cigar and brandy room, but had since been converted to a sort of “man cave,” with a billiard table, leather couches, and a sixty-five-inch flat-screen TV on one wall. The low-hanging lamps above the billiard table illuminated the green felt when Tristan turned on the lights.
“Select a few cues. I’ll pour us some brandy.” He headed to the liquor cabinet by the TV and poured two glasses before coming back to her.
A pair of cues rested on the felt and Kat was positioning the balls inside the wooden triangle.
“Solids or stripes?” she asked as she tucked the last ball inside with the others.
“Solids.” He set the white ball down on the black dot and lifted his cue. “But let’s make it interesting.”
“Okay.” Kat carefully extracted the wooden triangle and set it back on the rack by the extra cues. “Like a wager on who wins?”
“Something like that. How about”—Tristan leaned over the table, cue ready for his shot—“whoever sinks their ball in a pocket gets to pick an item of clothing to remove from the other person.”
Kat’s eyes glinted as she regarded him silently for a long moment. “One question. Do socks count as two items or the pair as one?”
Chuckling, Tristan smacked the white ball hard and it knocked all the other balls into a wild disarray on the table.
“Definitely one.” He wanted to get her naked as fast as he could.
“My turn.” Kat bumped him away from the table with her hip and prepared for her shot. Rather than watch her take her turn, he stared at her delectable arse, wishing it was bare so he could stroke the soft skin.
“Yes!” Kat whooped and straightened, pointing her cue at a striped ball that had just dropped into a corner pocket. “Take off your shirt.” She nudged him with her pole. “That’s right, take it off.” She encouraged him with a sultry little laugh that shocked him with a bolt of desire.
He was going to get her for that. Definitely. He unbuttoned his shirt and draped it over the back of the couch.
“My turn.” He sank the next hit, three solids going into pockets and one striped.
“You hit one of mine in and that means you get to take something else off,” Kat announced, and pointed at his boots. “Pairs as one, just like the socks.”
Without a complaint, he toed off his boots. “Fine. Boots off. Now you get to take something off.” He walked around her in a slow circle, studying her jeans, her sweater, and the little black boots she wore. “Boots…socks…sweater.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the billiard table while he waited for her to do as he asked.
Muttering adorable curses under her breath, Kat tugged off her boots and socks and then lifted her sweater up and off, dropping it on the couch next to his shirt.
Fuck. He’d been hoping she’d have nothing but a bra on underneath. Instead, she was wearing a black T-shirt that hugged her breasts. So much for his big win.
Then she padded around him on her little bare feet and studied the current lay of the balls on the table before picking her position. Right when she started to take her shot, he lifted the end of his cue and caressed it lightly along the inside of her right leg. With a little startled yelp, she knocked the balls in a dozen directions, but without enough force to send them toward the pockets.
She spun on him, furious. “Why, you cheating—”
Tristan silenced her by covering her mouth with his. He used his lips and tongue roughly, sensually teasing her, reminding her that he was in control of this little game and that she would be begging for him in seconds.
Kat curled her arms around his neck, kissing him back, her mouth hungry, desperate, echoing what he was feeling.
“Bloody hell, woman. Forget the game,” he growled, and lifted her up, dropping her on her arse on the edge of the pool table.
The frantic shedding of clothes had them both laughing and pausing briefly to steal kisses before he had his pants around his ankles and Kat completely bare. The lamplight played upon her skin, creating soft shadows in the curves of her body, the curves he wanted to spend hours worshipping with his mouth. She shivered and gazed up at him as he gently but firmly pressed her to lie flat on the table. A few billiard balls rolled away as she settled onto the surface, and her lips parted as she drew in a shaky breath.
“Tristan, you’re so…perfect.” Her cheeks reddened, and she didn’t say anything else but smiled up at him.
In that moment he would have conquered the world for her. Done anything she’d asked. He wanted to shout from the rooftops, crow like a young lad with triumph, and he couldn’t even say why. There was just a strange warmth in his chest that made him feel a tad light-headed, almost giddy.
Nudging her legs apart, he pulled her to the edge of the table and, watching her eyes, began to penetrate her slowly, entering inch by inch as she stared back at him. Invisible strands seemed to weave their bodies together, connecting them completely. He rocked slowly, breathing hard as he struggled to be gentle at first. Kat held up one hand, reaching for him, and he understood what she wanted. Bending over her, he covered her body with his and kissed her while he fucked her. It felt different somehow. Just the two of them at Fox Hill, able to be together without worrying that one or both of their parents would stumble in on them by accident.
“You feel like fucking heaven,” he whispered against her throat.
Her body was hot and tight around his, drawing him deeper and deeper into her with each thrusting move. It was glorious, this wild rush of pleasure. He poured himself into her with every kiss, every teasing touch of his fingers over the curves of her hips and breasts. She was incredible, arching up, throwing her head back…He was lost in the way the light rippled along the tangle of her hair over the green felt. Her nails dug into his back, and she gasped his name over and over again like a fervent prayer.
There was no containing the explosion within him at the sound of his name as she burned up in a blaze of passion while she climaxed. His body tensed. Everything in him seemed to drive straight to his cock, and his blood roared against his eardrums. He shouted out her name as he let go and came inside her. She took everything in that moment, even his soul, and he didn’t want it to end, the rippling pleasure of her body around his, the twitching of every muscle in his legs as he struggled to stay on his feet.
There weren’t words for either of them for several seconds. He propped himself up and brushed the back of his knuckles over her cheek, smiling.
“We should…” Her voice was broken by her breathing. “Play pool again soon.”
“I agree.” He chuckled.
It was a long while later when they’d finally left the billiard room and were properly dressed again. He held her hand as they walked down the hall
.
“Are you going to show me the rest of the house?” She gave his hand a playful squeeze.
“Let me show you the library. It’s better than the one at Pembroke, if you can believe that. It’s smaller, but…Well, you can tell me what you think.” This was the place he’d longed to show her since he’d first seen her dorm room and realized what books meant to her. The library at Fox Hill would be a dream for a woman like Kat.
“It’s really better than your dad’s?”
“It is, but I plan to change the library when I’m in control of the estate. I want more first editions, more classics. We could have some stunning collector’s items, and it could help draw visitors. There’s a viscount my father knows who has an entire collection of Rudyard Kipling first editions. It draws a steady crowd to his estate every year. We could do the same at Pembroke.”
“You really have it figured out, what you want to do when you become the earl?” Kat paused at the entrance to the library and watched him. Her gray eyes pierced clear through him, as though nothing could be hidden from her. Ancient eyes, yet so full of an intoxicating air of innocence. Tristan had never met anyone like her before in his life, and he’d opened up his heart to her, sharing his dreams with her.
I once had dreams, dreams my father crushed. But you’ve given me hope. He’d never imagined any woman would make him want to talk about his future and what he hoped he could do with his life, but Kat did.
The words could never be spoken. She’d never understand, and he couldn’t show that vulnerability to her, not yet. Some things were too dark, too painful to share right away.
“Tristan?” Kat’s voice called him back to the present.
“Sorry,” he murmured, and joined her at the entrance to the library. “What did you say?”
“Your dad’s estate, what’s it like?”
He started to answer, but the distant sound of a doorbell chiming jogged his memory.
“Should we get that since Mr. Whitney isn’t here?”
